“You mean–––” Northrup felt guilty. He knew whom the girl meant––he felt as if he were taking advantage; eavesdropping or reading someone else’s letter.
Jan-an sunk her face deeper into the cup of her hands––this pressed her features up and made her look laughably ugly. She was not taking much heed of the man near by; she was seeking to collect all the shreds of evidence she had gathered from listening, in her rapt, tense way, and making some definite case for, or against, the stranger who, Aunt Polly had assured her, was “good and proper.”
“Now, everything was running on same as common,” Jan-an muttered––“same as common. Then that old ha’nt bell took to ringing, like all possessed. I just naturally thought ’bout you dropping out of a clear sky and asking us the way to the inn when it was plain as the nose on yer face how yer should go. What do you suppose folks paint sign-boards for, eh?” The twisted ideas sprang into a question.
“That’s one on me, Jan-an!” Northrup laughed. “I was afraid I’d be found out.”
“Can’t yer read?” Jan-an could not utterly distrust this person who was puzzling her.
“Yes, I can read and write, Jan-an.”
“Then what in tarnation made yer plump in that way?”
“The Lord knows, Jan-an!” Almost the tone was reverent.
“Then he came ructioning in––Larry, I mean. An’ everything is different from what it was. Just like a bubbling pot”––poor Jan-an grew picturesque––“with the top wobbling. I wish”––she turned pleading eyes on Northrup––“I wish ter God you’d clear out.”